Never Again
by purplemud
Summary: He woke up from a deep sleep only to be thrust into a nightmare, one that he couldn't escape and one that would never end. [Post Jinchuu]
1. Chapter 1

**Never Again**

**Disclaimer: **Standard disclaimers apply. I do not own, nor will I ever, own RK.

**Authors Note:** Warning: angst straight ahead.

* * *

><p>She never comes to his dreams.<p>

He really didn't expect her to, but he wanted it badly enough because where else will he be able to see if her? She is gone. Her smile is gone. Her warmth is gone. Her light is gone. Her laughter. Her kindness. Her strength.

_His_ home.

All of that, gone.

Everything gone.

It is winter all around him. There is no color, no taste, no sound. Nothing. A vacuum.

What he feels now is the numbing chill inside his chest – a dark, bottomless pit of emptiness.

He is nameless now. Not a wanderer, no not anymore. Not a hitokiri. Not someone who protects. Not alive. Breathing, yes; existing, but not alive.

He is nothing now.

* * *

><p>Enishi was wrong. It didn't take four minutes. Not even five. A stab through the heart, how long would that have taken? Less than a minute. Seconds, even.<p>

This wasn't guess work. He would know. Of course he would know. One vicious thrust, as easy at that. All of Enishi's strength, his all-consuming anger, the full force of his Jinchuu and the blade would have easily gone through skin and tissues. It would have taken her by surprise, she wouldn't – couldn't have felt it.

He would've happily gone mad at that instant. Losing his mind would have been a blessing: to not be aware, to not feel the crushing weight of anguish, to dissolve into nothingness…but he couldn't.

Not when she was sitting like that, lifeless, blank eyes staring right through him, her lips slightly opened. Her wound – his wound, mirrored on her cheeks – still bleeding bright, bright red. Not with Enishi's wattou pinning her against the wall.

He couldn't leave her like that. Even in the haze of shock and pain and grief, he refused to let his last memory of her be like this.

He didn't know how, but he found the will to hold on to his already fraying mind. However badly he wanted to flee this moment, he took hold of what little control he could still find in him. Bad enough that he had let this happen, unforgivable, but to let Enishi put her pain in display like this, for everyone to see, it was unacceptable.

He tried to regain his center, helplessly grasping for some semblance of stability. He felt lost and completely unhinged and it took him a while to focus on anything but the overwhelming need to feel something other than the encompassing pain of loss.

Slowly, everything returned to him. The scent of gunpowder and blood was the first thing that assailed his senses. When he tried to stand up, he had to gag and swallow down the bile rising in his throat, suffocating him.

Without warning, the vague smell of white plum wafted through the air and he desperately, desperately wanted to howl and scream, plunge himself in some kind of darkness where he couldn't see or feel – where he could be numb – it was all too much…

But he didn't. No, not yet. Not now.

Just give him a few more minutes, Kami. Please. Later he will grieve and bleed and curse and be so exhausted, he'd stop feeling and thinking altogether.

But not yet, not yet. Onegai, not yet.

The silent mantra helped. When he could finally breathe again, he forced himself to get up and walk towards her. He had to face her like this, it was the least that he could do.

Another punishment to endure.

* * *

><p>Up close, her blue eyes were dimmed, no trace of that playful glimmer, or that thoughtful, quiet look of understanding. Seeing her eyes like that, even though he already knew it, it drove home the truth that she was gone.<p>

He took in every little detail, memorizing it, burning the image inside his brain, letting it sear all the way through his soul: a lone trail of blood escaping the corner of her lips, the way her shoulder slumped, the cross-scar…

Gasping, fire spreading through his chest, he knelt down and moved his arms around her: a final embrace (she was still warm) and suddenly, blessedly, the scent of jasmine.

"Kaoru," this he whispered against her collarbone. This would be the last time that he would let her name touch his lips. He wasn't allowed – no, he wasn't worthy. Not after he had so utterly, completely failed her.

He took deep, gulping breaths, the wheezing sound filling up the silence around them. Swallowing hard, his voice hoarse, his throat painfully clenching at every word, he quietly asked Sanosuke to please, gently remove the wattou.

From somewhere behind him, he could feel Saitou's disproving glare. He heard the murmured order to not tamper with the crime scene followed by Sano's bone chilling, "fuck you!" and then Sano was beside him. He heard the choked "jou-chan", such a contrast to how hateful and angry Sano's voice had been just seconds before. The great Zanza, reduced to tears, suddenly sounding so young and bewildered.

_We're lost without you, Kaoru.  
><em>

Did she ever knew that? Did she ever realized that she held them all together? Their little family of outcasts, she was their thread. She bound them all together. And now that she was gone, he was sure, they would all start to aimlessly drift apart, they could never be the same without her. How could they ever be together in one room now? Now that there would be an empty space where she was supposed to be? Their presence will remind them of _her _absence and who could stand that?

He could sense Sano's own battle for control, his friend's ki was aflame with hatred and loss. It took Sanosuke a few heartbeats before he could restrain the rage building inside of him. Restrain it enough that even with his white-knuckled grip at the wattou's hilt, he pulled it with careful tenderness.

And with the wattou resting against his weary shoulder, he felt it slowly, almost tenderly, slicing through his skin. Her blood mingling with his.

Sano threw the wattou in disgust, letting out the blood-curling rage that he had, just moments ago, mercilessly tamped down. He started pacing the floor, suddenly unsure of what to do next, screaming threats and shattering the silence. As if in response to Sano's rampaging, Saitou started with his "ahous!", swearing at the audacity, the idiocy – and in the background, Megumi-dono's near-silent sobbing.

"No, no, no, oh no, Kaoru-chan, no…"

All of this was lost to him. Unpinned now, he let her weight settle over him, her long hair brushing against his arms and for a moment, his heart painfully fluttered with the memory of holding her like this, just a few months back, when he left for Kyoto and told her goodbye.

_I should have kissed you then._

The bitterness of this regret made him want to weep, but no time for that now. Clutching her in an embrace that both gave and robbed him of comfort, he shifted her body, moving her as gently as possible until she was cradled in his arms. Once again, he found himself face-to-face with her blank stare, her still-bleeding cross-scar. He could hear the miniscule sound of her blood dropping on the tatami mat. A few drops now, but it in a few more minutes, it will leave a deep, dark stain all around her. He clutched her to him, inhaling her scent, jasmine - always jasmine - and now mingled with the scent of death.

Where was he getting the strength to do all this? To face this moment? He vaguely wondered, before viciously brushing aside any thought. It didn't matter. What good was _this_ strength, now that it had come too late?

He looked down at her, the sight of that cross-scar so obscenely carved into her skin. With her lying across him, he used his free arm to gingerly touch her face, ignoring all the aches from his injuries. He would have endured more, if it meant that he could save her. A broken body is nothing compared to a broken heart - or soul for that matter. Wounds will heal, but not this. Never this. There would be no healing for this kind of blow.

He gazed longingly at her face, marred now by Enishi's mark.

_Why are you still warm, Kaoru? _

He let his fingers ghost over the cross-scar, before finally settling over her parted lips, the urge to kiss her almost too much to bear – he wanted to, Kami, he wanted to, but he couldn't. Not like this. Not with her bloodied lips, not when she couldn't shyly giggle and kiss him back. Not when that dream, that _possibility_ was now lost forever.

No, he had wasted all that time being foolish and keeping his distance when all he really wanted was to be wrapped in her scent.

Here's another punishment for you.

_You smiled for him. For this. Why?_

Silently and in almost soothing gesture, he pressed his fingers against her lids, forever closing her eyes.

* * *

><p>The last thing he remembered was Saitou ordering Megumi-dono to get a grip, dragging her over to them, quietly admonishing the doctor, "Oh, for God's sake, woman!"<p>

He felt Megumi-dono kneeling next to him, he glanced at the fall of her dark hair, a curtain hiding her face. She seemed just a lost as he was: level-headed, take-action Megumi-dono, just sitting there, her hand curled in an angry fist across her lap. A part of him wanted to comfort her, but he knew there were no words, no gesture to make the pain stop.

Across the room, Saitou was quickly taking hold of the situation, and briefly, he felt almost grateful for him.

"You, ahou! You stop your useless pacing and help her!" Saitou paused, and in a voice that could have been mistaken as tender, he had added, almost as if in afterthought, "Clean her up before the boy wakes up."

And the thought of Yahiko – that was when he couldn't bear it anymore, that was when he finally let himself succumb to the darkness.

He fled. There were no other words for it. There was no reason to linger on, to stay at the ruined dojo. It was no longer his home, no longer his sanctuary.

A heavy darkness was edging towards him, turning his surrounding into gray-black-nothingness. A welcome respite from the onslaught of emotions that were ripping through him. He didn't know what he was doing, where he was going, but the ache inside his chest was slowly eating him, devouring him. Like acid. Seeping and burning. Liquid fire of regret. He let it wash over him. Let himself drown in it.

In his slowly darkening world, he saw a chain hanging at a gate, and with surprising savagery, he yanked it down, pulling it with everything that he's got, he felt as though his bones would snap.

The thick metal swung against him, hitting him across the chest. Numb now, he quickly wound it over his sakabatou. He stared at the winding chain covering the hilt and he saw now what it truly was: a useless, pitiful thing.

A lie.

He had wanted to fling his sakabatou into the river but decided against it. No, it wouldn't taint anything else. Just him. He will hold on to it, make sure that its chain will never be unwound. Anyone who wanted it will have to pry it out of his cold, dead fingers. The reverse blade – the sword that protects – will never be unsheathed.

Never again.

* * *

><p>Light was creeping into the sky when he finally realized that he had walked almost to the edge of town. By now, they would have cleaned her up, dressed her in white and bandaged her scarred cheeks. She would be lying on her room, like she was sleeping. Except she would never, ever wake up.<p>

_Who would tell Yahiko-chan?_

He throttled the urge to cry, choking on the tears that were threatening to spill. Another useless thing: tears. What good where they, when they couldn't bring anything back?

Away from them, from her, he didn't fight the incoming rush of guilt, of pain and anger. He let it fuel him as he chased after the darkness, the coldness, the numbing nothingness. He raged and cursed and gripping the chained sakabatou, he pounded the ground before him, blindly slashing and swinging. And despite his efforts not to, he started crying, brokenly.

After an hour of this – maybe a lifetime – he lost track of time, he found himself bone-weary, tired like he had never been tired before. He couldn't feel anything, not even his own beating heart.

All he wanted was to sit down and never think, never feel again. Never want again. Never hope again.

And then he knew, he knew exactly where he needed to go.

-end-

**Author's Note: **Firstly, I have a confession to make. I used to have an account, years ago, under the name "Yuki". The very same "Yuki" who abandoned "Mismatched" and all the other RK and CCS fics (see Bio). I have forgotten my password and the e-mail tied to that account has been deactivated so I have no idea how I can access that account (help!).

RK has been my first ever fandom. My first ever fic was for RK. And I just love this series. Like, it's a forever thing. I would have wanted to go on writing RK-fics but I just, suddenly, I didn't know how to continue and then I discovered other fandoms, wrote for them and pulled the disappearing act once more. Sometimes it's real life, sometimes it's a really bad, monster of Writer's Block. I cannot promise anything but I do hope that I get to finish all the stories that I have started.

And as always, I would appreciate any feedback, reviews, comments and/or suggestion.

9/9: Did some editing because, eh *scratch head*, I re-read it and it just needed some things to be added and removed and I'm sort of okay now after doing some revising. I was a little unhappy with the first version, not that I'm completely satisfied with this one-but, yeah, I think this version is just a little bit better.


	2. Chapter 2

**Never Again**  
>Purplemud (Yuki)<p>

**Summary**: He woke up from a deep sleep only to be thrust into a nightmare, one that he couldn't escape and one that would never end.  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: Standard disclaimers apply. I do not own, nor will I ever, own RK.  
><strong>Authors Note<strong>: Holy wow, I wrote something again!

Consciousness came back the morning after the attack at the dojo. Nothing came at first, just a stillness, an empty blankness – no sounds, no thoughts, no feelings, and then the slowly, sluggishly, the waking of his senses. He vaguely remembered the last moments before he had fainted, it was like a distant echo of sensation. Pain and darkness. That was the last thing he could recall.

The first coherent thought that entered his brain, like a lightning bolt, was the startling recognition of his _being_: Kami-sama, he was still alive! But when he tried to move, he winced at the sudden explosion of pain that shot from his sides, spreading upward, piercing his head. Injured.

This wasn't particularly surprising; at least not as much as discovering that he had survived his fight last night. He just wasn't sure how badly his injuries were. He ran a quick check. First his hand: gingerly flexing it, before curling it into a fist. He grimaced, but that wasn't so bad. He'd still be able to hold a shinai, soon enough. Swinging it though, was something he wasn't looking forward to doing any time in the near future.

With this thought in mind, he cautiously raised his arms, (yep, no hundred downward swings for now, Busu-sama), then his legs, and finally he tried to sit up, each tentative movement causing, at first, a slight discomfort, progressing slowly to a sharper and more focused ache as he moved.

Groaning as his muscles protested, he gracelessly flopped back down the welcoming warmth of the mattress, mentally replaying the last moment s of his battle, trying to account for the long list of aches he was feeling.

Both his arms and sides were punctured badly, and that undoubtedly was the searing pain currently plaguing him, but no broken bones it seemed, thank Kami. He wasn't encased in any kind of sling and not wrapped like a mummified-version of Sano's hand. Minimum bandages, as far as he could tell.

Somewhat convinced that he wasn't suffering from any permanent injury, he finally let the rush of pride fill up his chest. Eyes still closed, he let out a small, self-satisfied chuckle. He had survived. Myoujin Yahiko, Tokyo's Best – no, no, no, Tokyo's _Fiercest_ Samurai, didn't just simply survive, he _fucking_ won the battle!

More than that, Kenshin had allowed him to fight, had put his faith in him. Trusted him to not screw things up. Sure, he had had some major battles, but this was different. Kenshin had specifically asked him to fight in his stead. It was like… it was just too cool for words. He didn't think that it would happen so soon. He had always hoped of course, envisioning countless of battles where he would come swooping in to save the day.

Yahiko wasn't sure if he _had _saved the day this time, but it didn't matter, against all odds, he had defeated that freak, Otowa. He had bled, just as Kenshin and Sano had. He had fought and _didn't _give up. He had endured, even when the pain had been too painful to bear, its weight pressing him down until he could barely stand up. He fought on, until the very end. And for the first time since he had started training, Yahiko felt that he was truly on his way to becoming a great swordsman, like Kenshin.

Like his father.

Of course, he thought a little sullenly, he had gotten his ass seriously kicked and had inevitably passed-out before he could even give Kaoru a smug, '_did you see that?!_' look.

Yahiko would've enjoyed that moment. He hoped Kaoru has something special to reward him for his victory and for effectively using the Hawatari. He at least deserved something _really_ nice.

He smiled at the thought. A new shinai sounded like a good idea. Or some new hakamas. Nothing too expensive, because Kaoru didn't exactly have the money. Maybe it doesn't have to be something that she needed to buy. He can ask her to move him into a bigger room at the dojo. Or demand lesser household chores. Surely, washing the dishes would be beneath him now. With so many ideas popping into his head, Yahiko pried his eyes open, his smile slowly stretching into a huge grin.

A second passed and then frowning, he wondered – what's missing? Something was definitely…_not right_. It was like grasping for a word at the tip of his tongue. There but not there. He tried to put a name to it – this feeling. This absence. What was it?

Yahiko waited impatiently as things slowly came into focus. The haze of Megumi's medicine was starting to lose it effects and he immediately recognized the all-too-familiar scent: iodine, unidentifiable pungencies, mint, balms, and the barely-there, faded metallic smell.

The Oguni clinic. But his injuries didn't seem _that_ bad. Pushing aside his unease, Yahiko decided that being in the clinic _was_ a good sign. If he was the only one occupying the clinic's single room, then it meant he was the only one that needed this kind of medical attention.

Grimacing at the stabbing pain that accompanied the movement, Yahiko lifted his head to look around. Blobs of color danced before him: white, blue, a flash of red. He vaguely heard someone speaking and it took him a while to make out the words. It was Megumi, announcing that he was awake, rushing to his side.

He felt her fingers poking and prodding and contemplated if it would be worth the laughs if he tried to bite her. A second later, he heard a soft grunt from Sanosuke and then eerily, wrongly followed by silence.

And then in that moment, he knew _exactly_ what was wrong.

Sitting up, ignoring the burning pain that was spreading from his ribs, he asked in a hoarse voice: "Where is Kaoru?"

* * *

><p>Because it had always been her.<p>

Whenever he got knocked down after a fight, the first thing that would always greet him when he woke up was Kaoru's tearful blue eyes, blinking down at him. It was the sight of her worried, pinched-up face that would slowly come into focus as soon as he regained consciousness.

She'd always let out a small sigh, like she'd been holding her breath the whole time and then, the unmistakable look of pride shining in her face, quickly followed by a choked, "Yahiko, you brat. Don't you ever do that again!"

Sometimes, she'd cry a little, especially if he had been out cold for a long time. Most of the time though, it was bright, encouraging smiles (crying made them both uncomfortable), and if he was still slightly out of it (something he usually blamed on Megumi's icky medicine), an affectionate ruffling of his hair. But today, for the first time since he had become part of the Kenshin-gumi, there was no Kaoru. No tearful, worried blue eyes. No smiles. Just this eerie, blank silence_._

"Yahiko, you shouldn't get up yet." Megumi said, pressing her palm against his chest. Through the material of his gi, he could feel how cold Megumi's fingers were. She let her hands linger, as though trying to smooth out invisible creases on his gi. "Don't strain yourself." Her voice was low and it even sounded _gentle. _

Yahiko dumbly stared at her. The older girl had never acted this way before. Especially whenever she treated them; she had always been bossy. Forceful , even. Always cold and distant, like they weren't even friends. Like she didn't know them at all. She had never shown any signs of distress, even compassion. Kaoru had once told him that she had envied Megumi's ability to distance herself from her patients. She was a true professional. A real doctor. That was what Kaoru had told him.

He didn't like this at all. Her touch was tender, almost motherly, but strangely, there was nothing comforting about her gentleness. Her voice was all wrong too, shaky and nervous. Yahiko could feel his stomach slowly tightening into tiny little knots. Impatiently, he swatted her hands away. "Where the heck is Kaoru?"

Megumi just blinked at him. As though she didn't quite understand what he was saying. He could see the puffy redness of her eyes. "Really, Yahiko-kun, you're going to ruin all my hard work! Settle down, will you?"

The words sounded like something Megumi would say, but her hand was trembling as she absentmindedly patted him in the head. Her blatant disregard of his question made Yahiko grit his teeth. How many times did he need to ask? It was a simple question.

He jerked his head away from her. He didn't want to be touched. He wanted an answer. Now. He glared at Megumi, his jaws clenching at the sight of her pale face, the tired sagging of her shoulders, the tear-stains, that he had just noticed, standing out, stark-white against her cheeks.

Yahiko didn't think he could ever dislike Megumi. She had saved his life when Beshim had poisoned him and she always made sure that they were restored back to health every time they did something brave and stupid. And she was always funny, even when sometimes she said mean things to Kaoru – of course, he did too, but he was allowed, because everyone knew that he really didn't mean it – but Yahiko was surprised at the sudden, inexplicable burst of anger that he felt towards her.

He pushed Megumi's hands away. "Don't touch me!" He screamed, when the lady doctor attempted to reach out to him once more. The sound reverberated inside his already throbbing head and for a moment he thought he was going to pass out from the sudden, vicious pain that exploded inside his chest.

"Yahiko-kun…" Megumi seemed to be trembling with the sheer effort not to either slap him silly or to start crying. Her face was so terribly contorted; her lips pressed tightly together, eyes clouded over.

"Get away from me!" _Kaoru's supposed to be here! She's the one who's supposed to be taking care of me. Not you! Not you!_

"Oi, calm the fuck down." Sano said coming between them as Megumi backed away, a small, wounded sound escaping from her.

Yahiko watched as she blindly staggered towards the corner of the room, her two hands covering her mouth as though she too, was surprised at how broken she sounded. Blinking back tears, confused at his sudden outburst, Yahiko stared at Sano's face and as calmly as he could, as grown up as he could, he asked again, "Where is Kaoru?"

Sano's face darkened, a haunted look crossing his features. He seemed to have aged overnight. His always jolly, carefree, 'Laugh at the Face of Danger' attitude was suddenly gone, replaced by this horribly somber expression that didn't belong on his face. Sano looked like a man who would never laugh out loud again and somehow, Yahiko knew.

_Something terrible happened. Something so terrible everything had changed. Megumi is no longer Megumi and Sano is no longer Sano. _

Yahiko could feel his heart painfully thudding inside his chest. He looked from Sano to Megumi, and if he knew how young he looked right that instant, his eyes wide and pleading, his face softening, his features suddenly smooth, unmarred by his usual scowls, his smug smile, if he had known how he had suddenly stripped himself bare, he would have quickly raised his arms to hide the ten year old boy, whose existence he rarely ever acknowledged.

Sano stood before him, blocking his view of Megumi, of everything, actually. All he could see right now was Sano's bandaged hand, gripping his shoulder, trying to get him to lie down again. "Look, Fox says that you shouldn't strain yourself—"

Yahiko shook his head, cutting him off. "Don't, Sano. Don't treat me like that."

Sano took a deep breath, the muscles in his jaws working. He looked so tired and worn out. Like he hadn't slept at all, everything in his movement spoke of deep, bone-tired weariness. He and Megumi shared the same haunted look, the dark circles under their eyes a testament to something they have shared overnight. Some unnamable, unspeakable horror.

"Jou-" Sano swallowed hard, his voice catching. "She's… she's at the dojo."

_She's at the dojo_.

Yahiko waited breathlessly for Sano to elaborate, but Sano had clamped his mouth shut, the muscles in his jaws working, clenching and unclenching.

_She's at the dojo_.

It could mean a thousand different things. Really, it could. Yahiko didn't want to think of the worst possible thing. He shoved that possibility aside. No, not that. Something bad, but not _that_. That would be impossible. It could never happen. Not to Kaoru.

Without another word, Yahiko pushed aside the blankets covering him and started to stand up, pausing as a wave of dizziness assaulted him, almost knocking him off balance. Beside him, Sano had his fist clenched, cautious of helping him, careful not to set him off with any offer of assistance.

The gesture was lost to him, because now, eye leveled with Sano's bandaged hand, Yahiko noticed the dark red stains covering it. It couldn't have been Sano's blood. The stains were all wrong. Not on his knuckles, but on the edges of his finger. It was like he had held something bloodied.

Doubling over, Yahiko fought the urge to be sick. He made gagging, gasping sound, clutching his middle area. He could hear Megumi muttering protests as he took two deep breaths, finally managing to get a hold of himself. Without another word, arms still wrapped around his injured body, he staggered towards the door, determined to make it out of the clinic, walk all the way back to the dojo and see for himself.

_See for himself…what?_

Behind him, he heard the sound of scuffling. Megumi pushing Sano, probably. "Where do you think you're going, Yahiko? You come back here, right this instant! I mean it! You idiot, don't just stand there! Do something!"

It was almost a relief, to hear Megumi sounding like her usual dictatorial self. Even though he could still hear the slight wavering of her voice, for a moment, it was almost like nothing had changed. Not unexpectedly, he felt a warm, heavy hand on his shoulder, stopping him. Yahiko made a move to shrug it off, but Sano merely tightened his hold, squeezing painfully, it nearly made his knees buckle and fold.

"We'll take you to her, I promise. Just…just give Foxy here a few minutes to check on your wounds. Otherwise, we'll never hear the end of it," Sano leaned down, and added in a whisper, "she'll just scream at us all the way to the dojo. It'll be scandalous. And noisy. You know how loud she can get."

Yahiko blinked up at Sano. His words were light, delivered in the same usual, joking manner, with the familiar cocky tilting of his head. But Sano's eyes betrayed him. And Yahiko realized how hard it must be for Sano and Megumi to act like this - like everything was going to be ok – like they could afford to joke and bicker with each other. It was a show. All for him. For his sake.

Yahiko had no choice. Feeling strangely defeated, he finally conceded. "Five minutes," he muttered through his gritted teeth. His voice brooked no argument. He'd let Megumi do her job and then he will go to Kaoru. They would have to knock him down again if they wanted him to stay at the clinic. Yahiko defiantly lifted his chin, the unspoken challenge hanging in the air.

Sano and Megumi looked at each other and Yahiko watched as Megumi very slowly dipped her chin, barely a nod, a gesture of surrender. "Five minutes" she answered curtly.

* * *

><p>His mind was playing tricks on him. Megumi's medicine was doing some serious damage with his ability to think rationally. It was the only possible explanation. He remembered waking up in the clinic, he remembered impatiently sitting down as Megumi cleaned his wound and changed his bandages. He remembered asking where Kenshin was and listening to Sano's reply, which didn't make <em>any<em> sense.

_"He's just…gone. After the fight, we couldn't find him, he just wasn't there anymore."_

He remembered glaring at Sano, accusing of him obviously getting things wrong. He remembered his labored walked to the dojo, mindful of the stares, the pitiful looks and wary whispering.

'S_o sad, what happened…and so young, it's terrible, really…'_

He remembered all these things, but vaguely. It was like watching himself, like he had been carved apart from everything and he knew this was what had happened but he couldn't remember being _in that _moment.

It was so odd.

There he was, surrounded by neighbors and their pitying looks, when all of a sudden, he paused, bowed his head, hunched up his shoulder and he just _bolted_ – running like he was trying to escape some nightmare monster that was relentlessly chasing him.

There was Sano and Megumi chasing after him, yelling for him to stop but he couldn't. He felt numbed. Away from all the pain. From whatever it was that was happening around him. He had a sense that his heart was pounding painfully inside his chest, but he didn't _feel _it. He just knew it. The loud thudding noise it made as he turned at the corner, suddenly stopping at the sight of the dojo – or what remained of it, anyway.

Gasping for breath, a little boy, staggered towards the gate, limping lightly, his mouth opening and closing, like a fish yanked out of the water. A sense of disbelief clearly showing in his face.

He could see it so clearly inside is head. The little boy was _him_. And he _was_ the little boy. But he hadn't felt like that in a long time. And for a moment, Yahiko wasn't sure anymore if he was awake or was still drugged up and sleeping at the clinic.

Because _this _couldn't be real. The damage to the dojo was ridiculous. It was as though a bomb had gone off. Everything seemed to have been ripped apart or blown into pieces. Splintered wood were scattered everywhere, leaving a trail of destruction that was too terrible for comprehension.

Outside the dojo gates were a couple of police officers milling about, and some of Sano's friend trying to clear off debris from the street. There were familiar faces – students, from other dojos, he numbly realized – putting up banners, talking in low, somber voices. The moment they spotted him, they all seemed to stop whatever it was that they were doing and just _stared_ at him.

His actions were no longer his own and he watched, cringing as the angry little boy began an assault on the people who were stomping disrespectfully around Kaoru's dojo. _His _home. "What the fuck are you all looking at?! Get the fuck out of here! Get out!"

That was his hoarse voice, shattering the silence. Everyone contritely bowed their heads, murmuring quick apologies. They all shuffled away from him, giving him the same pitying looks the women in their neighborhood had given him. This enraged him even more. His clenched fist rose, shaking with unexpected, dark fury.

The last thing Yahiko remember was Sano catching up to him, and yanking him inside the gate and him, angrily, defiantly, _childishly_ pushing past Sano, knocking his hand away, blindly heading towards Kaoru's room, Megumi breathlessly following behind. And then all of a sudden, unmercifully, like a cruel joke, he was back in his body: _here, now_, in front of Kaouru's room. Her shoji door was closed and he knew.

Everything clicked inside his head and he _knew_.

* * *

><p>Yahiko stood motionless, staring at the shoji door. He couldn't understand what was happening. His senses were playing tricks on him. Ever since he had woken up, nothing had made any sense. Like this, for example. It was so quiet. He couldn't remember the dojo being this silent. So still. It felt so utterly empty. And the smell. It was all wrong. It smelled like incense and something <em>clean<em>. Too clean.

He waited for Sano and Megumi, because a part of him wanted to be stopped. He really didn't want to enter Kaoru's room. He really didn't want to see, to face the irrevocable truth. He wanted Sano and Megumi to stop him.

But they didn't. They stood silently, a few feet away from him, Megumi's heavy breathing filling in this strange, hollow silence.

"How does—how does she look like?" Yahiko suddenly asked, not moving, barely even breathing himself.

Megumi sucked in her breath, but it was Sano who answered him. In a weary voice, Sano tried to assure him that Kaoru looked fine, "Like…like she's just sleeping."

But she _wasn't just_ sleeping.

The thought struck him like a physical blow and Yahiko felt his shoulder slumping, a heavy weight was settling over him. Swallowing through the burning lumps lodged inside his throat, he finally entered the room, siding the door close before either Megumi or Sanosuke decided that they needed to be there, to make sure that he -

Well, he wasn't sure _what_ either.

It wasn't like he had spent nights wondering what he would do if this ever happened, because frankly, he didn't think something like this _could _ever happened, especially not to her. It was _impossible_.

Impossible. What a stupid word. It shouldn't exist at all. He hated that word, the way it so easily rolled off people's tongue. _Im-po-ssible_. It was a two-faced, dishonest word. All it gave was false hope. A child's silly, laughable, hope. He obviously didn't know anything.

_Not impossible after all._

He had to take a moment to close his eyes and make sure that he wasn't going to cry. If he started bawling like a baby, then he was sure that Sano and Megumi would barge in and take him before he even saw her.

He _needed _to see her. Otherwise, he'd never really believe it.

Kaoru's room was dimly lit. It took him a while to let his eyes adjust, figure out where things were. Her room was the biggest in the dojo, but sparsely furnished. He very rarely ventured inside her room. It was her sanctuary and it was one of the few unspoken rules that he had never broken.

When he finally saw her, lying like that, so quiet and so impossibly still, the first thing he thought was: _this must be a joke. Kaoru is just getting back at me for all the times that I had been horrible to her, calling her names, for being lazy, for grudgingly becoming her student, for all those time I had rolled my eyes at her when she was trying to teach me how to wield a bokken. _

And so inappropriately, the first words that came out of his mouth were: "Cut it out, busu. I know what you're trying to do, it's not funny. You know I didn't mean it. You know I was just kidding. So just stop it. Just _stop it_ and wake up!"

His voice was low and harsh, filled with a kind of longing that he hadn't ever realized he was capable of. It was a whispered plea, one that she didn't seem to hear. His eyes searched for the slightest movement of her chest – any hint, any sign at all that she was still breathing. But… she looked so _cold_.

Not a joke then.

He heard Megumi asking if he was alright. "I'm-" but he stopped there. What was he supposed to say to that? He wasn't fine. Whatever was alright, whatever was fine; he was miles away from that. In fact, he could say that he would never be fine after this. Never.

Sano must have convinced Megumi to let him be. He heard their heavy footsteps walking away and after making sure that they were really gone, he finally walked forward and when he was close enough, he knelt down beside Kaoru.

Yahiko had to take a moment, a sharp painful breath, steeling himself before he could finally look at her. The first thing he saw was her hands. Her totally ungirly, calloused hands, clasped so primly together. He wondered about the stupid idiot who did this. They didn't know Kaoru at all. She would've wanted to be holding her shinai.

"I'll get that fixed." He told her, moving his glance to her face, his throat clenching at the sight of her closed eyes, her pale lips, tinted with a sickly colored blue. Not like the blue of her eyes. It was completely devoid of any vividness. She had a cut on her face, covered by a small square bandage.

Kaoru had probably fought back. It was a personal wound. It meant that the bastard had gotten real close to her. He shuddered at the thought. He could picture her, raising her shinai, defiant as always. Defiant until the end.

"I hope you at least got to hit him real hard, Kaoru." Her name came out as a choking sound and Yahiko had a sudden urge to claw at his throat. Claw through skin and bones, and dislodge the tears that were stuck inside his throat. He clenched his hands into tight fists, breathing noisily through his mouth, a sudden rush of memories barreling into his brains.

He'd been here before. Exactly like this. Kneeling, staring down at a pale face. It was a different face, of course, older. It had been a pretty face once, but there were deep lines of sadness and weariness etched on her skin. Even in her death, his mother had been frowning. The tired downward curve of her mouth, the sorrowful arch of her eyebrows. Yahiko remembered it all too well. He had also been just as terrified and angry and lost and trying his best not to cry. Not to let the tears fall. He didn't want to start crying, because if he did, he might never, ever stop.

It was like losing his mother again. Only this time, he was also losing his teacher, his friend, his sister, his home. He was losing everything all over again. Now that Kaoru was gone, he didn't have anything left.

The iron clamp on his chest was back, squeezing, squeezing painfully.

_You aren't supposed to leave me alone, Kaoru._

His clenched fist pounded helplessly into the tatami mat. The gesture felt so insignificant, so useless. The thudding sound it made was equally pitifully small, quickly swallowed by the silence. He bowed his head, and made a strangled sound. His throat felt raw and it was so hard to swallow.

While he had been knocked unconscious, drained from his fight, that Yukishiro bastard had hurt Kaoru. And no one had come to save her. Had she been scared? She had probably thought that any minute now, any second now, Kenshin would come. Or _he _would come. He'd come barreling from out of nowhere, hitting Enishi with enough force to knock him down and it will be all over. She'd sigh with relief and ask them not to hurt Yukishiro too much. Kaoru didn't understand wickedness and cruelty. She was all about forgiving and second chances. But there was no forgiveness in this. And no second chances.

_Yukishiro Enishi. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. You aren't supposed to leave me alone, Kaoru. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate..._

Yahiko hadn't realized that he had started crying. He hadn't meant to. He wanted to be strong, but there was no stopping the tears. They converged at the tip of his nose, on his chin, plonking uselessly at his clenched fist. Sniffling, he brought his arms against his eyes, trying to contain the sob that was trying to rip past his throat.

He had always known it but had never acknowledged it. Now it was all he could think of. Kaoru is – was – his family. She had taken him in when no else would. She was the one who had asked Kenshin to check up on him, if she hadn't, Kenshin wouldn't have come barging into that filthy yakuza den. In a way, he was glad that Kaoru never got to see where he had really come from. If she had known, she would've marched down there and tried to knock Yakuza heads. She cared that deeply. She had opened her home to him and her dojo.

She was the one who woke up early in the morning to make sure that he didn't skip on his exercises. She instilled in him discipline and a different kind of courage – the courage to not deliberately hurt anyone, even if they deserved it. She showed him how to be kind. She took pride in his accomplishment. She hurt when he hurt. She loved him like he was her own blood and he loved her back, just as fiercely as she did and now she was gone.

He made small hiccuping sounds. Like a small, wounded child and Yahiko didn't care. Kaoru was gone. Forever.

That didn't seem right. That was just unacceptable. She wasn't supposed to leave him like this, like everyone in his family had left him. She was the one who's supposed to stay and make sure that he ate right, that he practiced daily, that he took his regular baths, that he was wearing clean clothes, that he was warm during winter nights. She was supposed to be standing beside him, beaming proudly, when he finally become as strong as Kenshin.

Kaoru was supposed to be here, now, _always_.

His eyes were burning. Dry, but burning. He seemed to have used up all his tears and he was calmly looking down at Kaoru's face. It was her, but it wasn't her, because how can it be her? It would mean that she was not going to wake up. Never again. And that this would be the last time he'd ever see her, because tomorrow, they will take her and bury her and...

His mind couldn't quite go there yet. He couldn't allow himself to think of anything further because at the back of his mind, he was still _expecting_ Kaoru to suddenly appear behind him, smack him in the head and order him to clean the floor _again_ and this time; make sure he got every speck of dust.

But she wasn't going to do that. Of course she wasn't.

Yahiko closed his eyes. He woke up from a deep sleep only to be thrust into a nightmare, one that he couldn't escape and one that would never end. He wanted to curl into a ball and sleep again, right here, beside Kaoru and maybe he'd wake up and things would be different.

It was too tempting. To just lie down and not _think or feel_ anything.

But… Yahiko swallowed hard, taking deep breaths. Kaoru never, _ever_ gave up. However lonely or afraid or hurt she had been when Kenshin had left for Kyoto, she had, in the end, pulled through. She had stood up, determined to find Kenshin, bring him back home. And this is exactly what he will do. Because he was a student of the Kamiya Kasshin, because this was what Kaoru had taught him and he will honor her by doing what she would have wanted. Looking down at her, Yahiko could feel his resolve hardening.

He raised his arms, scrubbing his face, sniffling softly. "No more tears, Kaoru. I promise. I'll look for Kenshin. I'll find him, and he…we'll say good bye to you and then," he clenched his fist, "we'll make Enishi pay for what he'd done. After that… after that, we'll take care of the dojo." There was a strange calmness settling over him as he made all these promises. Here were things to do. He'd have to concentrate on finishing these tasks, on making sure that he'll keep his promises. He would do whatever it takes. It wouldn't take the pain away, but it should help. Be busy. Keep moving. Keep living.

"I will never let your name be forgotten. Never. Your – _our _– dojo will be the best in all of Tokyo. In all of Japan," Yahiko paused to swallow the new batch of tears that were threatening to spill. "They will know about you. I'll keep your name alive Kaoru, always. I promise."

He bowed deeply, his head resting against the tatami mat. He meant every word of it. He will make sure that he lived as Kaoru had – always with kindness. It will be painful and lonely and it wasn't going to be easy without her, but together, him and Sano and Megumi and Kenshin – maybe they can heal each other's wound. Maybe it will be enough.

* * *

><p>End Notes: So, uhm, maybe this won't be a one shot after all? But as far as plots are concerned, I still don't have any idea where exactly this story is going. Maybe it'll be just a series of one-shots featuring everyone's reaction post-Jinchuu and then something happy at the end.<p>

I hope Yahiko isn't too OOC. I can't ever remember if he used any suffixes when referring to Kaoru. It was always just her name, right? Anyway, as always, feel free to let me know what you think. Your reviews and feedback and much, much appreciated.

Also, I did just a bit of research about funerals during the Meiji era. In one instance, there was a mention of banners being made for the dead. I was thinking the dojos were Kaoru sometimes taught would have made banners for her. I hope that explains the banners. I'll try to be more historically accurate next time.


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